I'm currently trying to become a Licensed Tax Preparer in Oregon, the strictest state in the nation, I am told, when it comes to paid tax preparation. So I'm taking a class to pass the state exam for my license, which I need to get what I hope will be a good job at least half the year.
The teacher was explaining a certain tax credit the other day, when she said something rather interesting.
"So that would be if you, or your husband, or your kid went back to school," she explained, looking around at the all-female class. She was preoccupied with the material, of course--too preoccupied to notice what she was saying.
There were four of us students in the class that night. The only male, which made five total, was absent. Two older women had husbands, and I and the girl closest to my age (I'm twenty-five, she's a recent high school graduate--eighteen or nineteen, I guess) did not have husbands.
So that means that the teacher was assuming all of us, and especially the two single young people, were straight. It's not likely she was thinking of bisexuality, since she did not say "Husband or wife."
I think the other girl is straight, though of course I am just assuming, too. The teacher looked around the room from the side that we two were on, to the side that the two older ladies were on (they were related, and so sat together). So it's also not likely that she looked at the two older ladies, and thought of their husbands.
I should not be surprised at being mistaken for straight. After all, for a long time I mistook myself for straight. But it always takes me by surprise. I go through life feeling like I have bright rainbow radiation, and everyone else has internal Geiger counters.
And it was on a day when I dared to be butch, or what I saw as butch. "No, no silk shirts," I thought. "They're nice, but I'm feeling very butch today. I have to wear the red plaid flannel. Must not deny my lesbian needs."
I took a risk that night. I felt very butch, and very warm against the cold. But apparently nothing ever looks butch on me. Even my mom calls my bulky leather jacket "cute" and "punky." (Though I suppose the word used doesn't matter, if I feel like I look good.) I'm not sure if things would change, if I cut my hair. But I do like it long, so I suppose I'm stuck with comments about boyfriends and husbands all of my life.
Even weirder, I always wear pants and boots or tennis shoes, and never more makeup than lipstick. Even that, I forget half the time. All I wore that night was uncolored lip balm. I feel terribly butch sometimes, but apparently I'm not, to other people. Some days I want to be feminine, and some days I want to be butch. But I don't want to shave my head or even get a pixie cut.
They say coming out is a process. (Though I'm not sure there's a need to come out in this situation, and in any case, I want to get a job before I say something, if I have the opportunity. In Oregon I can't be fired for being gay--unfortunately I have to say "in Oregon.")
But it always takes me by surprise when people assume. Do straight people really live in such a sheltered, bland, straight world? Every gay person has many straight people in their life, but so many straight people don't (think they) have anyone in their life who is LGBT at all. Literally all of my extended family, save my parents, might think that--especially the conservative Christian side (my mother's side).
And someday, I will be thrilled to happily come out to them (in spite of whatever their reactions are, I want it to be happy for me), but for now, most probably think they know no one who is gay, at least not well. But they probably think that no one in our family is gay. And that is such a weird idea, to think that (especially with how suspiciously my homophobic uncle acts; I call his little eccentricities "Closeted Clues"). That is so weird, that they have no idea!
If anyone ever mentions that we don't have any gay people in our family (maybe because of how "Christian" or "lucky" our family is), I'm going to shout happily, "Yes, we do! And you're lucky to have me, too!"
When things like this happen, I wonder, "Do I look like someone who's going to have a husband?" And apparently the answer is, "Yes. Yes, I do." At least to others--not to myself, not at all. And that is what matters.
But between being assumed straight, and being an introvert and a lazy dater, I'm not sure how I will meet anyone someday. It seems that it's up to the "feminine" one to make the first move. And what if, heaven forbid, we are both femme, and thus both have no idea?
My mom once related to me something a lesbian acquaintance of hers said to her: "It's hard to find a good man. It's even harder to find a good woman. I'm lucky I've already got one."
She was probably referring, especially, to our relatively little town (20,000) and the surrounding rural county. I guess someday if I really want someone, I'll have to use a dating app, or go to the gay bar an hour away in a bigger city. Such is life when you're not very butch- or masculine-looking to other people.
But then again, the element of surprise might also be a little fun...
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